


Nothing in Common but Him

by helsinkibaby



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Het, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-11-22
Updated: 2001-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:44:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5442134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mallory's thoughts on Ainsley.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing in Common but Him

P>We have absolutely nothing in common.

I'm Washington born and bred, she's from North Carolina.

My hair is short and red, hers is long and blonde. 

I speak in complete sentences, in your ordinary standard American English accent. She speaks in iambic pentameter patter, with a Southern twang. 

I pride myself as coming across as strong and competent, even though I'm more than aware that this tends to make people see me as a bitch. And I'm ok with that, because that's better than people thinking that I'm weak. She, on the other hand, although she's smart, comes across as a bit of a ditz, with her way of talking and the Southern accent and the huge eyes, and this innocent naïve air that she projects without even trying. 

I'm a schoolteacher, who believes that the best way to create the future is to mould the young into strong, competent adults, and is proud to say that I had a part in the process that way. She's a lawyer, who believes that the best way to create the future is to take part in government, to try to change things at an administrative level. 

I'm a liberal Democrat, my father's daughter. I've been active in politics ever since I can remember, and during my summer vacation in '98, I was volunteering on the campaign with my dad, and that November, I was in New Hampshire with him instead of with my students in Washington, and I cheered when Uncle Jed got elected. She's a Conservative Republican, her father's daughter, granddaughter of the man who was once Chairman of the North Carolina State Republican Party. When Uncle Jed got elected, she was probably crying into her Mint Julep, and I'm still not too sure what the hell possessed him to employ her at the White House. 

Her childhood was idyllic. Parents who adored each other, adored her, and who are still together. She's proud of carrying on her family name. Whereas I began to use my mom's maiden name so that I wouldn't have to answer questions about being my father's daughter. My childhood was spent in my room, listening to my father's shouting and my mother's crying, hearing the clink of empty bottles when I put out the trash, accidentally dislodging one from its hiding place when I pulled the curtains in the living room one night. Crying into my pillow at night, trying to shut out the fighting from downstairs. Praying that one day he'd get help, that he'd be my dad again. And then crying tears of joy when he finally did. 

I went to a private college. Small campus, excellent courses, an equal number of men and women. And we had the usual college experience, the parties and so forth, but on a much smaller level than you'd normally hear about. She went to Smith College, the birthplace of feminism, and how she fit in there, I can't even begin to imagine, and the things that she would have experienced there would have been far outside my purview. 

When Lillienfield and Claypool and the other minions of Satan outed my dad as a recovering addict, I knew what it was going to do to him, and I was terrified on his behalf, so afraid that he'd go back to the booze or the pills. Or that he'd have to resign, because I knew how much he loved this job. I so wanted to be there for the Press Conference, but he purposely kept the time from me so that I'd be spared all the hoopla and the questions and the flashes. I was so proud of him and wanted to tell the world what I thought of him. She did tell the world what she thought of him, in an op-ed piece that called for his resignation, one of the many. 

I love the opera, classical music, the more obscure the better. I loved it when my dad couldn't use his subscription tickets and gave them to me. OK, so I didn't get to see the great Chinese opera, but still. And I loved going to hear the Icelandic Symphony at the Kennedy Centre. That's my idea of a great night out. She can't stand it; preferring Gilbert and Sullivan and other musicals, and if it was classical music that she had on, it was always veering towards the more mainstream, dare I say it, common, taste. And of course, being from the south, she has a predilection for country music, which I can't stand. 

I love technology and gadgets, can play with them for hours. I'm well known for it at school - the other teachers bring their stuff into me when they can't work it out, and I've lost count of the amount of times one of them has come into my room because their computer isn't working, or the TV or VCR isn't doing what it should. She's a complete technophobe - while she might be able to use the computer for work related tasks, when it doesn't work, she's straight on to technical support. Her opinions on the evil of the VCR programming system are well known and she can't even use Caller ID, for crying out loud! 

I support tighter gun control legislation, and always have. I've seen too many students of mine affected by losing friends or family in gun-related incidents, had too many friends of mine affected in the same way. To say nothing of what turning on the tv and seeing images of your father and friends being pinned down by a hail of bullets will do to a girl. She's all in favour of the right to bear arms, will argue it with anyone who disagrees with her, even did it in front of Josh once. 

She's scared of the President. That's an understatement actually, she's terrified of him. The first time that she met him, she threw her drink clear across a room, the second time she met him she was hiding in my dad's closet. And even now that she's been working in the White House for so long, has talked to him on numerous occasions, she's still a little nervous around him, still avoids him wherever she can. I, on the other hand, remember the days when Uncle Jed used to sit me down on his knee and tell me stories and make me laugh. I remember the man who used to tease me about my schooling, and my dates and my friends, the man who basically treated me like a fourth daughter. I can't help but laugh at the kids in my class, the looks of awe on their faces when they hear that I know the President, because he's still the man, rather than the office, to me. 

I love ice hockey. Always did, even before I began to date Richard, although I will say that our relationship has given me a better insight into the game. She can't stand it. Can't understand the attraction of grown men chasing a plastic disc around the ice, banging into each other and a Plexiglas wall, at the extent of life limb and tooth. She prefers tennis, while the thought of spending hours watching that little green fuzzy ball flying back and forth over the net almost has me tearing my hair out on the spot. 

I knew all this the first time I met her. I'd done my homework and I really didn't expect to like her. That's actually a lie. I expected to hate her. I wanted to hate her. I mean, how dare she do what she was doing? Who did she think she was?

You see, no matter what I said to Dad, no matter how much I'd seen Mom's leaving coming, I still wanted them to get back together. After all, they are my parents. And I wanted my family back together more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. And I never got over the idea that one day, when the administration is over with, when he has more time, when all the bad feeling has passed, that they'd find their way back to each other. 

Which is why I reacted badly when he told me about the two of them. 

To say nothing of the fact that she's young enough to be his daughter. That she's only six years older than me. Or that she works for him, that he, in fact, hired her. Or that she's a Republican, and all I've heard from my dad since I can remember is that he can't stand Republicans, that they're the enemy. 

He was nervous about telling me about them, I could tell that. I can understand why - my redheaded temper is legendary in the family, and he probably thought I'd cause a scene, which is why he took me out to lunch and told me in public. In truth, I would still have caused a scene, wanted to cause a scene, but I walked out on him before I could. 

I avoided him for a week. Didn't answer his calls, didn't even answer Margaret's, and I think I really freaked her out over that. I spent the week fuming, not talking to anyone about what he'd told me, trying to straighten everything out in my own head. 

Until I decided that I had to meet her, had to see for myself what this woman was like, see what he saw in her. 

And my suspicions were confirmed when I came to her door. Blonde hair pulled up in a messy ponytail, in sweats and bare feet, she looked even younger than I did. I couldn't help noticing that she was a knockout, and wondered to myself what kind of ditz I was going to be dealing with. And when she began chattering on and on and on, a nervous condition, she later told me, I was ready to check my dad's cabinets for liquor again. The only thought in my mind was: he's going out with _this_?

And then she stood there, and visibly pulled herself up by the bootstraps and told me that it wasn't a fling. That they were serious, and that, and I quote here, " I've told him that I'll resign, right now. He won't let me. He's more worried about my reputation than he is about his own. Which makes us about even, because, no matter what you may think of me, and I gather from this clandestine visit that the answer is more than likely along the lines of not that much, I would do anything to protect him."

I raised an eyebrow. "Would you walk away from him? To protect him?"

There was a long pause. A very long pause, where she looked down at the carpet. "No." When she did speak, I was barely able to hear her, but she looked up at me, shoulders and back straight, chin up, eyes defiant. "No. I couldn't do that."

And there was something there, in that moment, which I don't think I can adequately describe, although I've tried, many times. But I looked at her, and I just knew that she meant it. I believed her. And when she sat down and told me that she'd never do anything to hurt Dad, I believed her then too. And when she trotted out the cliché that I'd prepared myself for, that she wanted us to be friends eventually, I realised that that was what I wanted too. 

Dad was quite shocked that it was so easy I think. And he was waiting for things to blow up between us again for a long time. But they haven't yet. And they're not going to. Because we've spent time together, and I've come to the conclusion that she's not so bad. OK, she's conservative, and her accent and her chatter drive me crazy sometimes, and if we ever discuss politics, education policies in particular, there's likely to be bloodshed. But she's smart and she's funny, and she's one of the best cooks I've ever met. 

And she loves my dad and he loves her.

And she's good for him. He can talk to her, and she'll be interested. And while she may not agree with him, she's able to offer him an impartial ear, and even if she doesn't agree with the advice that she's giving him, she still offers it. She understands him. And she drags him out of the office, something that Mom was never able to do. She stops him working so hard, makes him relax. She makes him smile, makes him laugh. She gives him a reason to get up in the morning and to come home at night. I've never seen him as happy as I've seen him these past few months, and I'm under no illusions as to who I've got to thank for that. 

If you'd described her to me a year ago, I'd have told you that we'd never be friends, that we'd never get along in a million years. That we have absolutely nothing in common, and that's still true. 

We've got nothing in common but him. But that's enough.


End file.
